Twist. It happened last week at the European Parliament. The draft Deportation Regulation.

Still processing what happened at the European Parliament and driven to poetry…

Twist                   

I wonder did he twist his ankle

as he made his way down to vote in the Chamber?

I wonder was he distracted

by the throbbing at the bottom of his leg?

Did it make him forget

the exhausted limbs of someone escaping?

Or did it make him think of

dangerous people on the run?

As he went downstairs

to assent to return hubs,

to reduce to a sliver

human dignity.

As he went downstairs

to render safeguards into luxuries -

not for the illegal

marauding masses -

but instead, willing into existence

 a murky labyrinth to pen them in.

As he went downstairs

To vote for a dark political document,

masquerading as a law.

Did you twist your ankle and did it cloud your mind?

Or did you twist your conscience?

©2026 by Rebecca O’Donnell